sunbaked_baker: (with a fierce look)
In the world of Eos, in the kingdom of Lucis, the hunters are a paramilitary civilian force dedicated to assuring the safety of the populace living in or traveling the outlands. They are a hardy band of brothers and sisters loosely spread across the kingdom, identified by their hard-wearing clothing, no-nonsense attitude, and most specifically by the dogtags hanging from a chain about their necks. They travel the kingdom, working to destroy the demons that plague the countryside at night, hunting monsters terrorizing the populace, maintaining the warded havens that offer protection to travelers caught outside the safety of towns and outposts at sunset, rescuing stranded travelers, and generally trying to be some sort of safety net for the common people of the broken kingdom of Lucis. Though for years the Empire has occupied much of the kingdom and their road blockades make road travel difficult, hunters are more than familiar with cross-country travel through the trackless backwoods, and are largely left unimpeded. Since the treachery perpetrated at the peace treaty signing, the hunters have been tasked with also helping locate the Royal Tombs of kings past, as the locations of many of them have been lost to time.

Sunshine is one of the kingdom's more successful hunters. She is generally dusty and marked by hard travel unless she has had the opportunity to stay somewhere with access to a shower recently. She can typically be seen wearing a faded pine-green cap over her braided red hair, a dusty, grey-blue sleeveless shirt, dark grey cargo pants and a pair of sturdy (and probably dusty) boots. Over her shirt she wears light leather armor that offers some protection for her torso. The armor's leather straps both the small travel-pack at the small of her back and the sheaths of the pair of light-imbued daggers she carries at her sides.
sunbaked_baker: (not so sure)
See, this is why Rae doesn't keep pets.

"Yeah, I know," Rae says guiltily, settling her irritated and low-powered T-Minus on the kitchen table with a generous amount of food. She makes sure it's feeding the way it should before straightening up and giving it an apologetic pat. "I'm sorry I've not been here. I left you food, but I didn't expect to be away so long, and I've been rather... preoccupied."

To say the least.

"I'll be around now, though," she reassures it (though she isn't sure how to tell if the T-Minus is reassured or not). "For a good while, I think."

After a night or two of decent sleep, she's steadier on her feet and feeling less frayed, but she is nowhere near ready to head back home again.

Satisfied that the T-Minus hasn't been irreparably harmed, but still keeping an eye on it, Rae puts her apron back on and moves to the other side of the kitchen to start pouring muffin batter (cranberry-orange) into a tray of muffin cups.
sunbaked_baker: (Cold ashes)
There was a lot to tell... )
sunbaked_baker: (Default)
The shortening days of November mean that 'evening' starts early in Milliways.

"Here we go," Rae says with good cheer, cradling a big bowl of popcorn in her arms as she holds open the door to her room, to let Autor bring the drinks in. "I think we're set."
sunbaked_baker: (Cold ashes)
When he and his wife divorced, Onyx Blaise kept custody of his daughter.

Raven Blaise grew up among her father's family, magic-handlers all. She was taught of her skill from a young age by her father, her grandmother, and later the masters she has been apprenticed to since she was ten. There was no disappearance of the Blaise family, but the Wars still happened. There is no coffeehouse in Raven Blaise's life; no cinnamon rolls as big as her head, either, though she does still like to dabble with recipes in the kitchen. There's something about it that is a lot like magic.

Raven is currently in her mid-twenties, and is currently nearing the end of her formal apprenticeship. She hasn't yet determined whether she will join one of the large wardmaking corporations or strike out on her own as a self-employed magic-handler, but she still has time to decide. The news is often pretty dire, even a decade after the Wars officially ended, but the future still seems pretty bright, to her.
sunbaked_baker: (blazing smile)
"I'm so ready for this lingering cough to quit," Rae mutters after clearing her throat and inviting Autor into her room. "It just doesn't want to give up yet."

She holds the door open for him with the hand holding the dvd box, the other carefully balancing two bowls - one large bowl of popcorn and a smaller bowl of many-flavored jelly beans - with ease of one who has worked in the food-service industry the majority of her life.
sunbaked_baker: (sleeping)
She still felt wretched when she swam back into consciousness, but her first, almost involuntary decision was to do something about it. The knowledge of having lain in her bed for days, littering the floor beside it with used tissues which missed the trashcan but that she was too exhausted to get up and throw away properly... it repulsed her.

Though her balance was not great, she made it to the bathroom and took the hottest shower she could stand. Then, when she felt marginally more in control and free of some of the feeling of having been ill for the past week, the problems arose.

Her closet, which normally would have been filled to the brim with elegant and delightful things to feel against one's skin, things to feel powerful in, was somehow reduced to a row of cheap, tasteless shirts, most in eye-searing colors, and trousers. Oh, there were a couple of decent blouses and skirts in the laundry bin - she vaguely remembered wearing them - but she wasn't about to air her dirty laundry, even non-metaphorically. The only thing in the closet that spoke to her was the finely beaded evening dress that had been shoved to the back. Among the rough and heavy shoes in the bottom of the closet, there was even a delicate pair of silver heels to go with it.

She held the dress against herself and turned this way and that before the full-length mirror of the closet doors. This was event-wear, not for everyday. Something to be seen in when you wanted to make a statement. Well, she did want to make a statement, didn't she, if even just to herself for now. If you didn't look sick, or act sick, surely you could convince yourself that you weren't sick. And then wouldn't feel sick. And maybe you could convince others as well. That was the hope, but she would have to be thorough in order to be convincing.

Good thing that was something she excelled at, then.

From the feet up.
sunbaked_baker: (blazing unsure)
Rae had been so careful putting her towel and clothes out of reach when she had reached the Caribbean inlet, specifically so she wouldn't have to worry about them while she swam. Apparently she hadn't put them high enough. When she had waded back out of the water two hours later, all that was left of her towel was a few torn and singed cotton threads, and her clothes were nowhere to be seen. Not even her coat.

It was enough to make one wonder if 'demon bunny' could constitute an actual curse. May your teeth fall out, your crops rot, and demon bunnies nick all your stuff.

The weather was warm enough at the Caribbean inlet, but Rae was wet and weary, and while winter was technically on its way out of the pseudo-Scottish countryside, it was still plenty chilly, and the muddy ground was frigid under her bare feet.

Her teeth were chattering by the time she reached the bar room's back door - the key to her room had been in her coat pocket, anyway, so she figured she might as well go directly in. The Bar's offerings of a fluffy (whole, and unsinged!) towel and a thick bathrobe are much appreciated.
sunbaked_baker: (in her element)
Rae has to remind herself to be mindful of Autor's impaired state and his sprained ankle as they leave the bar room behind. She doesn't want to hurt him, but she has to call on reserves of patience and fortitude she didn't know she had just to keep herself from hurrying him along.

Her heartbeat is loud in her ears, over the ongoing sounds of Autor's drowsy banter as she helps him up the stairs, her jaw clenched tight. Apart from being happily drunk, he is fine. Not hurt in any way.

They are halfway down the last hall to Autor's room when the words burst forth.

"What the everloving fuck do you think you're doing, Autor?" she says miserably, swaying from his weight as she stops, unable to continue.
sunbaked_baker: (blazing unsure)
They were kind, at least... )
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